The Sinclair penthouse buzzed with tension, but beneath the surface, beneath war maps and financial forensic reports, something deeper simmered.
Celeste stood near the window, arms folded, watching the Los Angeles skyline flicker like a bed of embers. Behind her, Damien's voice drifted from the war room as he coordinated their next offensive strike against Veronica.
“We’ll use the tech division,” he said into his phone. “Let her think she’s gained ground there. When she moves to acquire more shares—we’ll expose the shell front she’s using.”
Celeste didn’t hear the rest.
Her gaze dropped to the table beside her, where a lone white gardenia rested in a crystal dish. Damien had left it for her earlier—her favorite flower. Its heady fragrance filled the air, subtle and sharp.
The scent pu
